


With the Paint of our Veins

by Taelr



Series: Paint [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Crushes, Emotional Constipation, First Kiss, Fluff, Frustration, Idiots in Love, M/M, Painting, i don't even know what happened, paint, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 03:11:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1728863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taelr/pseuds/Taelr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is trying to find ways to make Derek mad. And when he finds a few full buckets of paint in one of the rooms of Hale House - which Derek is rebuilding - who can blame him for getting into a little trouble? So maybe he paints Derek's bedroom and maybe he flings paint at the walls instead of painting it on like a normal person. And maybe Derek comes back while Stiles is still in the middle of his little project. Things happen. Stiles can't be blamed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With the Paint of our Veins

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by Beethoven's Symphony No. 6 in F Minor, "Pastorale"  
> I heard it the other day and just pictured paint flying through the air in slow motion and this happened.  
> This is the first part of a series, and you can read them in order or out of order or both or just one and they'll still make sense. Or I hope they will, anyways.  
> I was my own beta, so any and all mistakes are mine. Feel free to point out any that you see!

Derek used to be scary. Really. Stiles used to have nightmares about the guy bursting into his room and tearing his throat out as he slept. And other horrifying things. Nausea-inducing things. But now things have changed. Derek has been working with Scott and Stiles for a long time, and after everything Stiles has realized that Derek’s really not as scary as he first appeared. Actually, Derek’s kind of hot. Kind of really hot in that _I’m-terrifying-and-huge-and-muscular-and-my-stubble-makes-me-look-particularly-edible-but-I’m-also-a-dangerous-supernatural-beast-so-fear-me_ kind of way. Which is bad. Really bad. Because at first it was just that time Stiles began noticing that Derek’s biceps are like as big around as Stiles’ thigh. Or that time Derek slammed Stiles up against a wall in frustration – whoa, not that kind of frustration, much to Stiles’ disappointment – and Stiles actually noticed when Derek’s eyes flicked down to his lips. His _lips_. Come on, man! Who even does that? Or that time Stiles and Derek woke up tied to a chair and Derek was on Stiles’ lap and aside from the crushing manweight and the terror that whoever had done this to them was about to come back, Stiles Jr. decided that because Derek’s ass was sitting on him, it was now happy time? Yeah. Not happy time.

At any rate, Stiles never even had a big gay understanding. Because he wasn’t into _guys_. He was into Derek. That was it, literally. Derek was the only guy who ever appealed to him like that. Like, ever. And to make it worse Stiles couldn’t even talk to Scott about these things, because when they used to talk about Derek it was Scott saying that he wasn’t such a bad dude even if he was weird and Stiles spent most of his breath pleading with Scott to just kill him or get rid of him already because Derek scared the hell out of him. Basically Stiles used to be scared of Derek – like, _scared shitless_ scared – but now he was just pissed with him.

What was even up with Derek anyways? Dude had crazy mad eyebrow game. And really nice, really toned muscles. And really tan skin that he seemed to have no qualms with showing off regularly and to no one in particular. And really hazel eyes that couldn’t even be described as green because _green_ was too plain and just didn’t cover it. And dark hair and nice lips and great thighs and just . . . Yup. So maybe Stiles had a big fat crush on Derek Hale. And maybe he was pissed because Derek couldn’t just be regular hot. Oh, no. No, he had to be like _super-mega-ultra-look-at-me-I’m-a-flipping-werewolf_ hot. So hot that Stiles didn’t even like thinking about it because if Lydia martin was out of his league then Derek Hale was so out of his universe. It was so far from possible and Derek was so far from even _tolerating_ Stiles that it wasn’t even amusing to let himself fantasize, because that just ended painfully.

So the pack got closer and Derek started to renovate and rebuild what was left of the Hale house, and sometimes Isaac and Scott helped him but most days they had school or training or teenage things to do and Derek was left to himself. Stiles knows this because he pays attention, so he knows things. And because maybe he sometimes goes over and pointedly _does not_ help Derek, unless leaning against the wall or sitting on the floor and talking Derek’s ear off constitutes as helping Derek. In which case, he helps Derek _a lot_. He would help Derek, really, but the guy is stubborn as hell and refuses to _ask_ for help. A simple, “This is heavy, Stiles,” or “Can you help me with this, Stiles?” or “Hand me that box of nails, Stiles,” or “Grab that end of the board, Stiles,” would be all it took. But does Derek ever say anything even remotely like that? Nope. He never says much, actually, usually just looks annoyed by Stiles’ rambling and doesn’t say anything. Which is fine by Stiles. Because does he have to be there with Derek? Nope. But is he anyways, because he’s a supportive member of the pack and because he cares? Yep. Okay, so maybe it’s more because Derek usually works in a wifebeater and too-tight jeans and gets all dirt-smudged and sweat-coated and flexes his muscles and shit, and Stiles really can’t seem to stay away. But that’s beside the point. Stiles is just a caring friend, that’s all. Really. At least _Derek_ thinks so.

This is like the whole Lydia thing all over again. The innocent crush turned mindless obsession. The hidden but absolute adoration on Stiles’ end of things and the utter ignorance and obliviousness from the other side. The way even _his dad_ knows. I mean what? Stiles can hide werewolves and kanimas and all manner of supernatural shit from his dad – or he _could_ , because they told his dad everything and now the sheriff is in the know – but apparently he can’t hide his stupid, huge, messy crush. The differences between now and when Stiles was head over heels for Lydia are few and far between, but they do exist. The thing is, Lydia pretended Stiles didn’t exist. At least Derek acknowledges Stiles as a member of the pack, however unappreciative and badly done that acknowledgement may be. There’s also the fact that Stiles wasn’t really in love with Lydia so much as he was in love with the idea of her. But with Derek, it’s different. Maybe because he actually knows Derek to a certain extent and is around him enough that he knows things about Derek. He isn’t just in love with the idea of Derek, no, he’s in love _with_ _Derek_. Yeah, he just let himself think those words. God, he had it so bad.

So yeah, Stiles was pissed. Because Derek had so many issues and was so messed up and scarred, but he was still so _perfect_. And Stiles was messed up too, wasn’t he? After the nogitsune and the alpha pack and everything else they were all pretty messed up. But Stiles wasn’t perfect. He was just Stiles. And Derek was so far out of his league and . . . yeah, we’ve already been through this. So Stiles was angry because Derek was there, and Derek was still learning to let go of his past, was still caught up in a lot of pain and self-hate and it was so obvious to Stiles, and Stiles was the only one who really saw it and wanted to help him and to just be there for him. Stiles was the only person who really would put Derek before himself, always, but of course Derek couldn’t see that. And of course Stiles, the only person who would ever want to treat Derek the way Derek really deserved, would never get that chance.

Stiles’ fear had turned to adoration, which had morphed sickeningly and slowly into anger and frustration. So maybe he talked Derek’s ear off or occasionally did things to really piss Derek off. Was he really to blame for venting his frustration?

It made perfect sense, then, when Stiles walked into the Hale house one Saturday and decided that it wouldn’t be a bad idea to start painting the place since Derek hadn’t arrived yet. To be fair, it was like the whole thing was laid out for him. He walked in and then through the house, looking around for where Derek would inevitably be in one room or another, fixing this, building that, painting this, arranging or planning that. Only Derek wasn’t. And the upstairs bedroom closest to the stairs, the one that Stiles had figured out used to be Derek’s once upon a time and the one that Derek had been working extra hard on restoring, had three huge buckets of paint in it. Huge buckets. One of them was white, for the trim Derek had been working on, presumably, and the other two were different shades of gray. One was dark gray, like storm clouds about to pour out rain, but it wasn’t too dark or close to black. The other gray was so light it was almost bluish-white, and Stiles wondered whether Derek was planning for a darker ceiling with light walls or the other way around.

Stiles didn’t wonder long, though, because a minute later he noticed a set of painting supplies beside the buckets of paint. A paint roller and several different sizes of paint brushes were just sitting there, practically calling his name. Stiles couldn’t resist. Like always, he’d worn clothes that he could work in, because maybe he was still hoping that this time Derek might actually ask him for help and _Stiles_ would come home sweaty and dirt-smudged and sore because he’d actually worked for once. So painting in the shirt and jeans he’d chosen? Yeah, not a problem. Derek had this weird thing about shoes in the “new” house, too, so Stiles had left them just inside the door. All he had to do was go back downstairs and set his phone down on his shoes and he was good to go.

He did one more quick check around the house to make sure that Derek really wasn’t around – he wasn’t – and then he dashed up the stairs and into the room again. He probably shouldn’t be doing this. Okay, so he really shouldn’t be doing this. It was Derek’s room, his most private and personal and precious room in the entire house, and Stiles was not only invading that space, he was _decorating_ it. Without Derek. Somehow that thought just spurred him on.

He opened the white first, snatching up the biggest paintbrush and dipping it in. He made sure he had way too much paint on the brush before he lifted it up, swinging it around and holding it tightly so that the paint splattered across the wall in front of him. He had a moment’s doubt and regret, already picturing the look on Derek’s face when he saw it, but then he just used that picture to get him going. Soon there were white splatters and drops and explosions all over the ceiling, walls, and floor around him, so he set down the paintbrush and closed the bucket of white paint. Time to move on to light gray. He repeated the process with the gray, setting aside the medium-size paintbrush he’d used and closing the bucket before he opened the dark gray. He had only two more brushes to choose from – he was not the type to mix colors, that was just _wrong_ – so he picked the larger of the two and started to work with the dark gray.

He got really into it, eventually pulling ridiculous poses and moves and getting just as much paint spattered all over himself and his clothes as he had gotten on the room around him. He got so into it – there were even sound effects – that he didn’t hear Derek arrive. It wasn’t until he heard steps on the stairs that he froze, paintbrush in hand, his back to the door. He heard Derek approaching and was too afraid to turn around and face the guy behind him who was about to be really, really mad. So he just stood there, with his hands at his sides and the paintbrush held tightly in one of them, covered in paint, and waited, clenching his teeth. He barely dared to breathe, wondering what Derek would do.

There was the sound of Derek inhaling deeply, and Stiles could practically feel the older guy shaking behind him. Yep. He was pissed. Stiles was _so_ dead.

And that’s when it hit him. Literally. Derek slammed into him from behind, pretty much bulldozing him into the wall in front of them so hard that Stiles saw stars. Yeah. Okay. So his right shoulder and right hip and the entire right side of his torso were going to be seriously bruised tomorrow. Oh. Right. That was _if_ he survived this. Which, let’s be honest, he probably wouldn’t. He’d just kind of really pissed off Derek Hale. And Derek might not be an alpha anymore, but even though Scott was the alpha now Derek still had that kind of terrifying and dangerous I’m-in-charge look about him, and he was a no-nonsense kind of guy when he was angry. Great. Not for the first time, Stiles cursed himself for always feeling like he needed to test lines and push boundaries. Because he’d pretty much blown past a huge line here, and now he was going to pay for it.

He steeled himself for whatever blows might fall on his back, claws and all, but all of his breath left him with Derek grabbed ahold of his shoulder and whipped him around so that they were facing each other. Stiles’ back was pressed painfully against the wall and Derek had him pinned, leaning over him and growling. And, yep, Derek was pissed. Definitely not so happy to see Stiles right now, if the glowing blue eyes and extra facial hair and the claws digging into Stiles’ shoulder were anything to go by.

A million things went through Stiles’ head, mostly desperate apologies and pleas for mercy that were too jumbled to make sense of. Just when he decided submitting and begging for his life would be the best way to go, Stiles’ brain kicked into overdrive. Which essentially meant that he did exactly what he always did when he was scared shitless; that was, start babbling and use sarcasm as his only remaining defense.

“Aw, come on! Don’t be such a sourwolf!” He could hardly believe those words were coming out of his mouth even as they did, and he swore he was not in control of his hand – which was still tightly clutching the paintbrush – when he lifted it and _booped_ Derek fucking Hale on the nose, smearing paint across the tip of it.

Stiles was pretty sure his eyes were wide fit to bug out of his head, and Derek looked just as surprised. Or as surprised as a pissed off werewolf shifted into beta form can look, anyways. Derek blinked twice, like he wasn’t sure what had just happened. It was about that moment that Stiles became aware of the fact that Derek had literally pinned him to the wall _with his body_ , and as a result some of the paint on Stiles had gotten on Derek, too. Stiles, being an idiot, of course chose this absurd moment to grin and say. “What do you think? Do you like my decorating?”

That seemed to snap Derek out of it enough that he shifted back, though his eyes were still blazing, even if they weren’t glowing blue. “Stiles,” he growled, “This is _my room_. This is _my house_!”

Stiles just shrugged. “Well, thanks, Captain Obvious. Anything else you’d like to point out?”

Derek growled, and it was so close to feral and canine that it made Stiles’ skin break out with goosebumps and shivers. “You painted it,” he snarled.

Stiles didn’t really know what else to say or do, so he just laughed nervously and somewhat hysterically. “Yeah, I guess I kind of did. Sorry about that, by the way.”

Derek didn’t seem placated. If anything, he just seemed more upset. Or more confused, because suddenly that was the only emotion evident on his face. He actually scrunched up his nose for a moment, staring at Stiles, and then he said, “You painted _me_.” He didn’t sound so angry anymore, just utterly confused and at a loss for what to think.

Stiles laughed again, though it was more of a soft chuckle this time. “Yes I did,” he said, feeling the absolutely uncalled for need to giggle all of the sudden. He lifted the paintbrush again, this time swiping it to make a line down Derek’s cheek. He wasn’t sure if he was drunk on adrenalin or pure unadulterated terror or what, but he was pretty positive he was drunk or high on _something_. Then again, maybe it was just Derek. “Gray looks good on you,” he said seriously, actually sounding a little tipsy.

Derek stared at him, searching his face for a moment. And then he did the thing with his eyes. That thing where his gaze flicked down to Stiles’ mouth for just the briefest moment, and then back to his eyes again? Yeah. But Stiles caught it. And realized that his mouth was hanging open. So he shut it quickly, clearing his throat. Derek still looked pissed, but there was something else there. Something like want or confusion or maybe a mixture of both on his face. Whatever it was, it caused him to loosen his hold on Stiles, and the teen relaxed some more, sighing a little bit in relief. “Whew, dude, I thought you were gonna kill me there for a minute,” Stiles said, carelessly smudging paint across Derek’s shirt with the brush as he waved his hands emphatically. Then his eyes widened and his mouth fell open again when he realized what he’d done and when Derek looked down. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry. I didn’t even mean to . . . I . . .” He just stood there, shrinking back against the wall and fearing for the worst.

Derek looked up from his shirt slowly, frowning at him. “Stiles,” he said seriously, but all of the danger and threats seemed to have gone from his voice for now, “Why did you paint my room?”

Stiles shrugged weakly, suddenly feeling like the world’s biggest dick – and not in the good way – for intruding on something so personal of Derek’s. “Because I came looking for you and you were gone and the paint was just _there_ ” – he gestured rather limply to the buckets a few feet away – “and it was your room and I’m kind of really mad at you, so.”

Derek arched an eyebrow, actually looking intrigued. “ _You’re_ mad at _me_?”

Stiles shrugged again, sighing. Now was really not the time to declare his undying love. But apparently his mouth had other plans, because suddenly he was staring hard at his feet and hurriedly mumbling, “Well you’re just really annoyingly attractive, okay? And broody and dangerous looking and it shouldn’t be as hot as it is but it really is and you’re kind of way out of my league and OH MY GOD AM I SAYING THIS OUT LOUD I NEED TO SHUT UP NOW.” He clamped his free hand over his mouth, staring up at Derek, completely horrified.

Derek cocked his head to the side, staring at Stiles for a long few moments before he reached up, grabbing Stiles’ fingers and veritably peeling them off of Stiles’ face. He dropped Stiles’ hand nearly as soon as he touched it, for which Stiles was both thankful and disappointed. But then Derek did something that completely caught Stiles off guard. “Out of your league?” he muttered, like it was some sort of confusing puzzle or something. And then he was pinning Stiles against the wall again, only this time it was somehow gentler and more urgent all at once, and then his lips were there and they were against Stiles’ and nothing else mattered because they were kissing. And it was sloppy and it tasted vaguely of paint because Stiles was pretty sure he’d gotten some on his lips from his hand and he dropped the paintbrush and made another splatter on the floor in order to fist his hands in Derek’s shirt, but all in all it was one hell of a first kiss.

Afterwards Derek wouldn’t stop staring at the floor and the ceiling and the walls and Stiles just kept feeling bad about the paint and hoping Derek didn’t regret the kiss, because he’d pulled away first and now they were a few feet away from each other. After a few minutes of silence that Stiles felt like a heavy weight on his chest he finally managed to croak, “I’m sorry. I’ll . . . I’ll scrape it all off and help you paint it again or do it all for you, if you want.”

Derek just turned to look at him, raising his eyebrows like he was confused again. “You don’t like it?” he asked.

Stiles stared at him for a few seconds, utterly confused. “Um, what? I mean yeah, the splatters and things look pretty cool. But I messed up your walls, so . . .”

Derek just shook his head, and then he actually smiled. “I don’t want to get rid of it,” he said, and there was almost reverence in his voice. “I like it.”

Stiles was lost for words, but before he could come back with any kind of witty quip or sarcastic retort Derek turned and walked out of the room. Stiles just stared after him, unable to make his feet move until Derek called over his shoulder, “I’m still putting in carpet and covering the floor, and the trim will still be white. But the rest of it’s staying.” Then he dropped his voice, but Stiles still heard when he murmured, “You should stay, too.”

Stiles hadn’t smiled in a long time, but at this rate he was pretty much fit to split his face in half he was grinning so widely.


End file.
